


Snake in the Grass

by RadScavver



Series: The Cadriff Chronicles [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadScavver/pseuds/RadScavver
Summary: When the snake bites, what will happen? Rads finds out.





	Snake in the Grass

When Rads wakes, it’s to yelling.

“She’s awake!”

“Oh, thank fuck!”

“Someone get the General!”

All she can do is groan miserably. The noise around her is only sending spikes of pain through her head. It’s followed by a pressure, something thick and too much against the back of her eyes, but there’s something else. An inability to move has panic ratcheting her heartbeat up. It hurts, aches and stings and echoes about in her skull like a damn ricochet, a bullet chipping away brain and bone with each pass. She can _feel_ her pulse banging in her temples. Feels the way her skin stretches and relaxes as blood rushes through her veins. God, the sensations make her stomach roil. She forces her eyes to open.

“Easy there, lieutenant,” someone-Sanders?-whispers. A hand soothes the burning throb in her head, the chilly palm a welcome relief. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Rads tries to answer, but nothing comes out. The broken squeak sounds more like a rusty hinge. Sanders laughs. It sounds absolutely wrong, too rough, too unsure. There’s a thought of concern because Sanders never sounds so off.

“Sounding pretty bad. Not a huge surprise...considering…”

Something isn’t clicking. Fragments dance through her thoughts but they’re too blurry. Dust motes in sunshine through squinted eyelids. Rads knows they’re something she should recognize, yet a filter in her mind makes them mystical and unknown.

“Aw, hell, you probably don’t have a clue. We found you laid out with ‘scorps everywhere.”

Sanders laughs again. Short, bitter, more angry than anything else. The woman winces at her own voice, eyes closing; she looks so tired that Rads wants to bully her into resting.

“Scared us shitless. We thought...thought the damn things had killed you. Imagine the surprise when none of the fucking bugs attacked when we got near. Just waited there they like were some of your damn pets! And then my fucking green as hell medic looks you over to find out your wounds are _man-made_?”

A flash. Photograph memories whipping through Rads’ mind so fast she feels off-kilter even lying down. Her nose suddenly stings; smells an acrid burning so deep it coats her tongue. Tastes like seared meat. Like _terror_. She breathes but the air is clean. Why does she feel grit in her mouth? Hot disgust bubbles up her throat. Limbs ache as phantom hands bruise and pinch.

They’d been newcomers, greener than glowing fungus.

She’d taken three to ease the burden on her team.

All she can remember is screams...and ugly blue boots grinding down on her neck.

Sanders is still talking. Probably doesn’t even realize that Rads body has gone so still she could be mistaken for a mannequin.

“-found two of the freshies dead not far away from you. Well, one was dead. Other one was being drained by some bloodbugs. If it weren’t for the last one making it back to us-”

Rads muscles spasm. Her hands clamp down, vices as fright lances along her spine. Cold fingers cup her cheeks; Sanders’s staring down at her with eyes darker than a night sky. Some emotion brews up in them, wild as a storm off the sea, and yellowed teeth bare.

“It was the fucking greenhorns.” If a deathclaw could talk, they’d sound like Sanders does in this moment. “I’ll tear them _apart_.”

“What did you say?”

Both women turn their attention to the new voice. Riley is silhouetted against too bright daylight. The sharp contrast makes it difficult to make out his expression, but Rads can see the way his hands are curled into fists at his sides. She can’t tell if they’re shaking or if her vision is fading.

“Some god damn nobodies we took in, we  _trained_  and _fed_ , turned on our lieutenant. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Sanders’ voice is a rumble of thunder on the horizon, a threat of disaster to come. “Didn’t just turn on her. We thought it’d been raiders that left those marks.”

“What fucking marks?!”

Rads can’t stop this train from crashing. There’s no strength in her body to even turn her head away.

“Bruises on her arms and legs. Shirt all ripped to hell, but with the ‘scorps...we didn’t even...god damn it!”

Riley is out of the room in the span of a heartbeat. There’s a split second where Rads can see the furious twist of his face, then he’s gone. His bellow, though, echos back for both of them to hear perfectly.

“WHERE IS THE RAT BASTARD WHO TURNED RAIDER?”

Multiple voices call out, shocked wordless cries. There’s more shouting, although it’s not clear enough to make out through the heavy walls, and it grows into a cacophony. Rads tries to cover her ears, whimpering weakly as the too loud din makes spikes drive into her temples. Gentle hands brace her face.

“No one,” Sanders murmurs, tone soft with deadly promise, “gets to hurt you and live. No one. I won’t allow it; Riley won’t allow it; Payton won’t allow it. You know for damn sure the General is going to raise hell when they hear about this. And that little mechanic always following after you? When we brought you back, he went damn near feral. Ain’t a damn person alive is going to get away with this, Rads.”

There are tears rolling from her eyes. Too wet and uncomfortable for her to ignore, but they’re barely irritating with Sanders looking at her like that. Her second smiles and brushes one cool hand across her forehead.

“We’ve got your back, hun. Don’t you forget that.”

 

* * *

 

 

News had branched out quickly about Riley’s enraged hunt. It grew into a ‘Wealth-wide search when Payton returned from his latest mission and found Cadriff recovering. Minutemen all over went into an uproar, their outrage only growing when they discover the turncoat had gone out on another patrol.

Word spread quickly, finally reaching the General.

It took three days.

The General returned to the Castle with two others in tow, and a new axe gleaming on her back in the dying afternoon light.Yet, neither the blood-painted armor, nor the grimly stoic battered figures, stood out so much as the hideous bright blue boots dangling like a trophy from the General’s fist.


End file.
